


Chapter Thirty-Three: Home for a Rest

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [34]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two, Transformers: Beast Machines, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Bootlegging, Bounty Hunters, Drinking, Dubious Ethics, Gen, Other, People Watching, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Two of Knights of Hedonia: As suspected, Artemis had been barred from the pubs of the resort planet. Maintaining her holomatter avatar, she sinks into old habits to keep her mind off of sobriety: bootlegging, but she'll need help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Thirty-Three: Home for a Rest

You’ll have to excuse me, I’m not at my best  
I’ve been gone for a month, I’ve been drunk since I left  
And these so-called vacations will soon by my death  
I’m so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest  
—[”Home for a Rest”](https://youtu.be/crIk87-mPzY) by Spirits of the West, from _Save this House_

Hedonia  
Now

The new holomatter avatars were a vast improvement from their previous versions. There were some play in the avatar creation, the new concept was to emulate the host ‘Bot’s personality. Which, when first observed, did cause chuckles and guffaws at the expense of some crewmates, especially poor Tailgate.

“So let me get this straight,” Swerve adjusted the baby pack, jostling Tailgate, who protested. “You can’t join us because —”

“—barred for life,” Artemis shrugged, the corner of her mouth quirked upward. Tall and dark-skinned, frizzy black hair escaping under her Stetson — both Ratchet and Rodimus warned them not to spend too much time thinking about the hair, which meant for Artemis to do the exact opposite, and rather than fix it, opted for a hat to hide the mess — she retained her Matrix-blue optics — eyes. _Live and learn for next time._ “Me and Octane —"

"' — Octane and I — '" Ultra Magnus corrected from the bar.

"—got a little rowdy with some Demon mercs at an affiliate pub a while back; Sandstorm and Skyfire had to drag us out. Look at the barred roster behind the counter if you got a moment. Might get a chuckle or three.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Ultra Magnus’s avatar was a good head-shorter than Artemis’s, and half the girth, but still he managed an officer’s tear-down stare. It took some getting used to; the last avatar he had used in Artemis's presence had been a square-jawed human male with grey sideburns. Still human, but a young adult female — there had to be a story behind it. Artemis held her tongue and figured to ask about it when they got back on the ship. 

“Sarcasm! He’s capable of sarcasm!” Whirl made a production of recoiling in mock horror. “Boss, mark this sol! It should be a holiday!”

“So what will you do?” Rung, ignoring Whirl’s antics, directed his question to the ex-mercenary.

“Wander about, see the sights, cross-check some active bounties — what?” Addressing the disapproving glares from both Rung and Magnus, Artemis held out her hands. “We’ve got till local dawn, I seriously doubt I’ll nab anyone that quickly. As a counterargument, we can’t keep borrowing from the ship’s coffers, and as much as I enjoy rescuing those in need and laying down the beat-down on the oppressors, it’s not exactly keeping the _Lost Light_ running in optimal order.”

“Your idea of relaxation is looking for a fight?” Rung demanded.

“You’re just figuring that out, Eyebrows?” Skids interjected, adjusting his bow-tie.

“I never said that! I was taking into consideration —” Artemis halted, arched a brow, then glanced down at Whirl. “Primus, he’s right, isn’t he?”

The gap-toothed, eye-patched avatar nodded, pigtails bobbing. “What say you and I go and find a bar you hadn’t been kicked out of yet?”

“No,” Magnus vetoed. “You’re staying with the rest of the group, Whirl.”

“C’mon! The boss'll keep me out of trouble…” Whirl trailed off, enjoying the ability to express emotion by way of a smile threatening to split his face. “Okay, that was a blatant lie.”

“I don’t think Magnus wants to pull our afts out of hock,” Artemis mock-whispered.

“You’re not helping,” Magnus warned. 

“Seriously, guys, no worries. I’ll just pull chaperon duties and keep an optic out for trouble with the rest of the crew. Let's see, we've been planet-side for a half-megacycle; likely 'Cutter's in the drunk tank and needs someone to bail him out.”

“Either that or you're going to torment Xaaron,” Rewind suggested.

“Or drag-race with Sunstreaker on the strip,” Tailgate piped up. 

“All good possibilities, but I was more thinking of hitting the duty-free shop, if you must know,” Artemis shrugged.

“You’re not leaving me with him!” Whirl whined, pointing at Magnus. “C’mon, boss, we should be painting the town, Wrecker style!”

“I’m wondering if half the time you’re just winding him up, Art,” Skids observed.

“Who, Whirl or Magnus?” Tailgate muttered; Swerve chuckled.

“And just in case I don’t get to it, check the arcade before you leave for the shuttle — Cav’s got a habit of losing track of time, and fifty shanix will buy a slag-load of games.” Waving, she broke off from the rest of group, leaving the pub. 

Whirl crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. “When did she go all warden on us?”

“I should have put her in the brig before we came here,” Magnus grumbled, rubbing his temple.

“Sarcasm and hyperbole! See, you’re relaxing already!” Swerve grinned.

*

Hedonia had a Sirian affiliate — Wandering Star Clan, which had, while less bureaucratic than the three major clans, still had dossiers on active and retired mercenaries of the other families. While she had returned to a Cybertronian vehicle mode after the conflict with the Quintessons and Legion, Artemis did not wish to risk recognition in the case the Demon-affiliated bounty-hunters looking for a mark. She may have told the crew a white lie regarding her status: it was public knowledge she had officially retired from Spiral, the Shadow Clan mercenary group that kept her alive after Shockwave’s purge of suspect covert agents for the Autobots — and without her patsies, some of which were her actual friends — she needed to scoot while she had a chance. Go merc, stay low. What she had not told them was that the Demons did not retract their bounties on her, which could have included possible Decepticon Justice Division narcs. Which led to the real reason why she did not want to travel in a group in full ‘Bot mode. She would get around in her holomatter avatar for the duration of the trip. 

The bounty idea was a lark, but possible; Hedonia was known for their lax security and, if one had the right connections, a black market for liquor and arms, yet another fact they conveniently forgot to tell to Magnus. Within a quarter megacycle, she had landed a small-time Scuzzazoid crook and, using the human alias Maudlin O'Bedlam, collected an even ten thousand shanix. The remainder of the megacycle was spent hunting down Trailcutter, convincing him to help her on an errand to the duty free shop to pick up a few cases of triple-distilled engex and Nightmare Fuel. The avatars proved doubly useful to load and unload the cartons from their vehicular modes into a bootlegger’s hole on board the shuttle.

Once they finished crating the payload and returning to the vehicle park, they had taken to staring out to sea, the impressive view of the Galactic Arm at the horizon, and watching the ships both aquatic and aerial arrive and depart the port, as they sat atop the bonnet of Artemis's shell. Trailcutter’s avatar, a large, dishevelled fellow with scruffy brown hair and bleary eyes behind a pair of wrap-around glasses, had leaned next to her on her right, occasionally reaching for her flask out of habit, a light tap against her hip before drawing back. She called him out for it once, the first time, but remained silent at the consecutive offences. 

After a megacycle of silence contemplation, Artemis broke the silence. “What do you think," she questioned, "would guarantee free drinks for life from Swerve?”

"Seeing that you asked that just as I saw the Terradore ship arriving," he drawled, pulling himself upright, "I'd say consumption-grade nucleon.”

"What do you know about dealing with the Terradores?"

"They like capes, they've been in a conflict with the Ammonites for longer than we have with the 'Cons, and they only sell their consumption-grade fuel to retailers. Hard telling whether or not they're here for business or pleasure...."

"Feh. Why not do both? Markings on the aft are a Sirian call sign. They've got an affiliate, likely with Wandering Star, which means they're open for business."

"Where are you going with this, Art?" By his tone, he knew exactly where she was heading.

Artemis grinned, leaning forward. “Wanna ask around for a dealer?”

"I've been down this road before," he chortled. "We'd need permits, resale certification, tax status....”

"You tried to buy before, didn't you?"

"As a member of the Ethics committee on the development and use of weaponry as well as anything that could potentially be used as either a weapon itself or fuel for said weapon — yeah, I'm that transparent, aren't I?"

“I won't tell if you won't," she smirked, sliding off the bonnet and rounding the fender to her door. Through her open window, Artemis reached into the dash and pulled out her datapad, then, booting it up, typed at the screen.  
A message popped up in her inbox, the protocol address familiar: Four Winds, Medium Priority. Her breath caught in her throat — no, that was perception; the avatar did not need to breathe.

“What are you doing?” Trailcutter questioned as he slid from his perch.

“Requisition,” she answered, recollecting her thoughts and filing the message to read later. “Rod owes me a favour or seven. I’m getting a resale certification number for Swerve. We can get around the local taxes that way, too.”

He laughed, a hearty, infectious sound that inspired a good mood. "You see, that's why people like you — you're a creative problem solver!" 

Artemis stood just as Whirl’s avatar threw himself at her feet. “I’m so bored!” he whined into the tarmac.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay within Magnus’s sight?” Artemis demanded.

“Yeah, about that.” Whirl pushed himself up and propped up on the bonnet. “Swerve’s babysitting while we went shopping. Well, the otheres went shopping and I, fearing a sudden urge to destroy someone else’s property, wandered off with Skids. Hilarity ensued, he made some new friends, and now I'm laying low because I may have done something I shouldn't.”

Trailcutter bit his bottom lip, then turned to Artemis. "Hey, Art, what's that thing Magnus cites whenever he doesn't want to know what you're up to?"

"Plausible deniability." She never looked up from her 'pad.

Returning his attention to Whirl, Trailcutter ordered, "Don't tell us what you did, Whirl. I'm sure it was spectacular in only the way you know how to do it."

“And by babysitting," Artemis continued, "you mean Tailgate, right?”

“Um…slag, I can’t do this with a straight face.” Whirl keeled over in hysterics. “Okay, ready for this, boss? So we had rounds, and…okay, I can do this…so someone slipped Magnus a Mood Whiplash with weapons-grade nucleon and…well, we thought maybe we killed him…”

Now she looked up from the screen, arching a brow. “Tell me that was figurative,” Artemis growled.

Whirl held up his hands. “C’mon, boss, would I joke about a thing like that?” His gaze traveled to his fingers and, for the better part of a cycle, he watched, fascinated, as he wiggled the digits.

“So you got Magnus…drunk?” Trailcutter guessed, meeting Artemis's less-than-amused gaze. “With weapons-grade nucleon?”

Whirl pulled his attention away from his hands and nodded. “And then we left Swerve to deal with the consequences.”

Artemis sighed, pushing away from her vehicle. “Anyone else seeing the irony here?”

“What, we'll be dragging Magnus to the brig to dry out?” Trailcutter suggested.

Her datapad beeped. Artemis looked over the note, then tossed the pad to Trailcutter, along with a credit chip. “Handle the transaction, ‘Cutter. If it feels wrong, walk away. Use your human alias; I already took the liberty of tying it to my dossier as an assistant. Remember, we’ve got till local dawn to meet up with the others. Whirl, with me.”

Whirl slid off the fender, then froze, knees locked together, arms wrapped around his midsection. “You kidding, right, boss?”

“What, scared that the duly-appointed enforcer of the Tyrest Accord is going to suspect you for spiking his drink?”

Whirl struck an innocent pose, digging his toe in the warranite of the parking lot. “Why, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Artemis shared a gaze with Trailcutter, he with fear; she, somewhere south of exasperation.

“Seriously, boss, it was Swerve’s idea,” Whirl protested.

“Look at me, Whirl.” Artemis pointed to her face. “Do I look like I’m ready to bury you head-first into the forges of Helex because you spiked Magnus’s drink?”

He held up a finger. “You are taking it better than I thought you would.”

Artemis grabbed the smaller avatar by the straps of his overalls, half-dragging him to the boardwalk and into the pavilion. Rather than heading to the pub, they entered the arcade, where Cavalier, in her own holomatter avatar, dual-wielded both players’ guns on House of the Dead. 

"I'd've thought you'd be 'blading in places you shouldn't be by now," Artemis observed, releasing Whirl's straps. 

"The night is young, and I still have money to blow." Cavalier's avatar sported a hod-podge of Earth countercultures, rocking a Dead Kennedys shirt with multi-pocketed skate shorts over torn Space Invader-printed tights. She wore a cough-guard mask, decorated with a simple hand-drawn smile. "How's the duty-free shop?"

"Their engex stock had been savagely depleted. Did see some region-free animation and games, but I didn't know what you already had."

"No worries — I don't pay others to pirate what I can do myself. Where's 'Cutter?"

"I got him running a transaction while I clean up one of Whirl's messes."

"It wasn't a mess!" Whirl protested.

"You two mind keeping one another out of trouble for half-a-megacycle while I run interference?"

Cavalier and Whirl guffawed in unison as the taller avatar tossed the right-handed weapon to the smaller, who took up the second player. 

Returning to the pub was…surreal. Whirl had described the situation spot on: all but Swerve and Magnus had vacated the premise, the Minibot deep in thought, tapping his index fingers together and glancing at the face-down enforcer, to the door, back to Magnus, and down at his hands, calculating the methods to get the personnel carrier back to the shuttle. But Whirl left out a detail: there were mugs, large ones, added to the dead soldiers on the table. 

“Good Primus, what happened?” She demanded, climbing onto the chair next to Swerve.

“Oh.” The red and white Autobot shifted his optics, now between the comatose enforcer and the avatar of the _Lost Light_ ’s resident brawler, then rubbed the back of his head and chuckled. “Well, funny thing is, I told Whirl to get Magnus a Mood Whiplash —”

“—Allowing Whirl to order drinks unsupervised: mistake one,” she ticked off.

“Yeah, that wasn’t one of my better-thought plans. Anyway, we were all watching him, waiting for him to come to, and when he did, the others abandoned me.”

“Coincides with Whirl’s story. Well, save that he didn’t exactly own up to switching the drinks, but that’s beside the point.” She pointed her chin to the mugs. “Looks like he continued where he left off?”

“Like a champ!” Swerve announced. “Got talky, too. I think he needed to get some stuff off his chest, but, hey, isn’t that the job of a bartender? Here’s a drink and an audio receptor.”

“Got…talky?”

“Yeah, all about how how he didn’t want to go on this mission, but Rod talked him into it, and how he feels so out of place with us and…well, you know how people talk when they’ve been drinking.”

“Yes, Swerve, I do,” she hoisted herself onto the table’s edge and propped her elbows on her knees; the avatar mirrored her trademark grim, stone sober smile whenever she was on slag-got-real duty. “The thing about bartenders is that they talk about nothing to get people to talk about everything. Oh, the things you must know about the crew — probably rivals Rung. And Rung has to work to get people to tell the truth, to get down to their innermost feelings; you, all you have to do is give them a drink. Here’s another observation: I’ve been around the block long enough to know when someone’s hiding information, so now I’m concerned that a security protocol or three may have been breeched.”

“Art! We’re supposed to be on holiday!” Swerve held up his hands, his tone hushed. “He didn’t say anything of the sort! Just rambled on personal matters — which yes, hard to think that Mags even had a personal life —”

“'Cutter and I have secured an impressive stash of triple-distilled engex and Nightmare Fuel, and are currently brokering a deal for premium consumption-grade nucleon. I also procured a resale certificate for your bar, stamped with Rodimus’s seal of approval, which I can assure you has flames drawn on it. Now, I’m willing to split our spoils, on top of giving you the resale cert, if you keep whatever ‘Mags’ said to you to yourself.”

Swerve was not used to coercion with positive reinforcement. He stuttered, dropped his hands on the table, opened and closed his mouth. After a half-cycle of false starts, he whispered, “You got me a resale certificate?”

“You wouldn’t be opening up any off-ship bars with it, but at least it looks official enough to pick up supplies at wholesale.”

“I…before I answer, Art, can I ask a question?”

“Can’t guarantee I’ll answer it, but shoot.”

Swerve took his time to word his request. “Do you … care … for him?”

She smiled again, this one soft. “He's a good 'bot — one of the best, even. And I wish the others could see how much he cares for them. Yeah, he has a strange way of showing it, but if any one of us needed backup, he'd be there in a spark pulse. Just...I don't think people see that.”

Swerve nodded and stuck out his hand. “It looks like we have a deal.”

She returned the gesture by wrapping her hand around his thumb. “I do have to wonder what he said to get you to ask that.”

“Patient confidentiality,” Swerve rebutted, then held up a finger. “This is me, attempting to furrow my nonexistent eyebrows to imitate our ship’s shrink.”

“I’m going to round up 'Cutter; if you guys need help with Magnus, give us a shout.” Jumping from the table, Artemis waved without looking back.

 

NEXT CHAPTER:  
_Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun_ : "Cadence to Arms"  
_Knights of Hedonia:_ ""Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful"


End file.
